


My Little Whore

by canthelpmyselves



Series: Beaten To The Post [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 03:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canthelpmyselves/pseuds/canthelpmyselves
Summary: Mick takes Len's advice to 'go get laid'.





	My Little Whore

Mick Rory walked into the safe house, hung up his jacket, crossed the room and pulled Leonard Snart into a tight hug. He ignored the way the smaller man tensed and tried to push him off, holding tight for several seconds before stepping back, cupping his oldest friend’s cheeks and kissing his forehead right under the widow’s peak. Len almost fell over his own feet trying to get away.

“What the hell?” he growled.

“You are the best friend a guy could have,” Mick said sincerely. 

Len stared at him as if he was crazy. “Are you high? I don’t smell booze. Thought I told you to go get laid, not get high on whatever it is you took.”

“I did get laid,” Mick replied smugly. “Again and again and again.” Mick chuckled as he headed toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “Know how the Flash makes his voice go all shaky?”

Len looked at him cautiously. “Yeah. So?”

“Ever wonder what that would feel like with your dick in his throat?” Mick asked casually. He stopped at the mouth of the hallway. He looked back, his expression pure sin. “Feels fucking amazing.”

Mick laughed long and loud as Len froze in shock, mouth hanging open and eyes bugged out. Mick whistled as he strolled to his bedroom. He knew his partner would demand more info later, but for now, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to get some sleep.

* * *

(Twelve Hours Earlier)

Mick slammed his palm against the steel door in front of him several times and waited impatiently for someone to answer. He briefly considered just heading to Saints for a couple dozen beers, but Snart’s nasally sneer was still in his head.

_“Just go get fucking laid or something, Mick! You’ve been moody as hell and it’s setting me on edge!”_

So, he had stomped out, leaving Snart to his planning. He was heading toward the bar at first, but then remembered the little card he had found laying on the jukebox a few nights back. He had patted his pockets and found it in one of the inside ones.

**Fantasy Fulfilled**

**Looking for a hero to be bad with?**

**We can make that happen.**

**167 Ferguson Ave.**

The door opened and a bearded man looked at him. He lifted one eyebrow and held out a hand. “Invitation?”

Mick narrowed his eyes. “Ain’t got one. Found a card.”

The stranger rolled his eyes. “Hand it over.”

Mick reluctantly gave the guy the card and watched with surprise as the words on it disappeared before he slipped it in his pocket. He held the door open and gestured for Mick to enter.

Mick hesitated a second but was confident in his ability to fight his way out of a trap. Besides, that card thing was interesting. He walked in and the guy shut the door before leading him down a hallway to a large sitting room.

“My name’s Chaz,” the guy said, grabbing a large photo album and bringing it over. “So, rules. You get one night with whomever you choose. No blood-letting, burning, or cutting. Nothing that leaves a scar. You can only have one hero at a time. Not everyone here knows the identities of the other heroes. No recording equipment. We have spells placed throughout the whole building to block trackers, phones and cameras. If you attempt anything the hero says no to, you’ll be trussed up and left in front of Iron Heights.”

Mick eyed him warily. “Spells?”

Chaz nodded as he set the book on the coffee table. He flipped it open to a random page. Mick watched in awe as the blank pages slowly filled with words and photos. “The owner is a master of the dark arts. He uses his talents to protect the heroes who work here from harm, exposure and arrest. Prostitution is illegal, after all.”

Mick stared at the man with growing interest. “You’re tellin’ me that you got actual heroes here? Heroes who fuck strangers for money.”

Chaz nodded. “Can you imagine how hard it is to maintain a real relationship when half your life is a secret? Many have powers or physical characteristics you can’t hide, like green skin, wings or cybernetic limbs. And it's not like these people get paid to save lives, you know.”

“How much?” Mick asked, skeptically.

“$1000 a night,” Chaz said. “Considering what you’re getting, it’s a bargain.”

Mick tapped the book hopefully. “What if the hero I want ain’t in here?”

Chaz smirked. “If he or she wasn’t in there, you wouldn’t have an invitation. The invitations are charmed.”

Mick swallowed, suddenly nervous. He pulled a wad of hundreds out of his pocket and peeled off ten of them. “Flash,” he growled.

Chaz grinned and took the money before handing him a key with a little fob that said Red Room. “Second floor, third room on the left.”

Mick stood and headed toward the staircase. With each step he got a little bit nervous. Was this an elaborate set-up? Was he about to get arrested? This was a lot of trouble to go to when the Flash could just speed into a safe house and whisk him off to jail.

Mick walked past a blue door and a purple door before finding a red door. He slid the key into the lock and turned it. He took a deep breath and pushed it open. Standing in the middle of the room was a man in a suit identical to the hero’s. Mick walked in and shut the door, which locked automatically. He studied the man carefully, unable to find anything that stood out to make him seem like an imposter.

“You’re really him?” he asked gruffly. 

The hero smirked and flashed about the room briefly before coming to stand right in front of him. “Hello, Heat Wave,” he said in a teasing voice.

Mick’s mouth ran dry as he realized this was actually going to happen. That led to his next questions. “How’s this work? What are we doing?”

The Flash smiled slightly. “First things, first. Do you agree to keep my identity between us?”

Mick nodded. “Who’s gonna believe some old firebug?”

The hero reached up and pulled his cowl off, revealing a beautiful face. “Firebug, maybe,” he said, his smile growing. “Old?” The Flash gave him a slow once-over. “Definitely not,” he purred.

Half of Mick’s blood immediately traveled south. He reached out and grabbed the Flash’s waist, jerking him closer. Before he could ask for it, the Flash was kissing him. Mick groaned into the eager mouth as hands began tugging at his jacket. The room blurred and suddenly he found himself on a huge bed, the hero straddling his hips.

The Flash sat up, looking wickedly excited. “Some things you should know,” he said, tugging down a hidden zipped. “I have no refractory period. My best was twelve orgasms in one night. I’m good with just about anything you want to do, as long as you don’t blindfold me. You can tie me up, spank me, fuck my ass or face as much as you want. There’s a dresser full of toys, restraints and lubes beside the bed. There’s lingerie and costumes in the closet, if you’re interested. Beer, water and snacks in the mini-fridge. I’m clean, just so you know. I get tested every morning. I can dominate or submit if that’s your thing.”

Mick gasped as he rocked his ass against Mick’s erection. He grabbed the hero’s hips and ground up against him hard. “Fuck, Red!”

The Flash shuddered briefly before licking his lips and beginning to vibrate against Mick. “And I vibrate,” he smirked. “So, how about I suck you off to start?”

A low whine escaped Mick’s lips. “I do got a refractory period, Red. You suck me off and I ain’t getting it up again for a few hours.”

The Flash let out a low, dirty chuckle. “Magic, Mick. Inside this room, you have the same stamina as me. Those twelve orgasms I mentioned? Those weren’t mine. I had twenty-three. I gave him twelve.”

Mick would swear his heart almost stopped. His fingers dug into the Flash’s hips hard enough to bruise. He stared up at that sly smirk and wet his lips. “Then what are ya waitin’ for, Red?” he growled.


End file.
